Tristan Jones and the Blog Neglected. Richmond XTerra 2011.

In a simpler time I had three possessions.  A guitar, a typewriter, and the boat I lived on. 

I manage my shyness a little better now.  But I still remember fighting the fear, the pounding of my heart, as I worked my way through the crowd gathered around him after his speech at the local college.

How I managed to introduce myself to Tristan Jones, sailor, story teller, author, I will never know.  But this man had sailed the world and told the tales I read each night by lanternlight, in calm and in storm.  I had to say something or forever regret the opportunity.

I don't remember exactly what I asked, but I remember exactly what he answered.

"Writing is the easy part.  It's deciding what to leave out that's hard."

According to WendiLore, Bike Eat Sleep Repeat blog posts are just too long.  I'm sure a lot of folks agree.

Personally, I have an appetite for reading up on other people's lives.  Super short posts are just plain unsatisfying.  Crackers without the cheese.

Like a good meal, a good story has some meat to it. I don’t like to be left with bare bones and no details. I want to know all about it - and all about you - whatever you’re writing.

My only explanation for a long posting absence is that I have been treading a Drunkard's Path. This Drunkard's Path.  Over and over.  Trying to get it right.  I'm on the wagon now though, at least until it comes back to me from Irene The Quilter, for binding, gift wrapping, and the flight to Philidelphia.

But excuses are for weenies. 

So, if you are curious about the Wickham Park Marathon, Butterbeer, or the scariest looking roller coaster ever, know that there are four or five posts still in the queue, waiting to be deboned for publishing and a more palatable consumption.

Because Tristan was right.  Writing is easy.  Deciding what to leave out is hard.

So. 

Here's the bare bones on Richmond.

The trip was short, too short.

My attempt at the XTerra East Championship there - even shorter.

Any triathlete will tell you it is foolish to expend too much energy in the day or two right before a key race.

But to race off road without pre-riding the bike course is just begging to have your hat handed to you. There is nothing to be gained by saving a day of energy only to be blindsided by big surprises on trail.


I admit it.  This bike course kicked my butt.   

The narrow ledges kicked my butt on Friday, with Popeye returning again and again to see where I was. 

The hairpin turns and no-restart climbs kicked my butt on Saturday when I rode it with Scrub Jay.  

One loop (the race would be two) had me more red-lined than, oh, fifty loops of Graham's Swamp. 


And that's just the bike.

The swim depends mostly on how well you guage your mile of current and submerged rocks.  Then, it's 20 edgey-ledgey miles on the bike, and out for 10k of urban, deep woods, rock-hopping trail run.


The cut off time for finishing the bike portion is noon.  As I wobbled to the end of our 10 mile pre-ride on Saturday, some dizzy calculating tells me I might have fifteen minutes, maybe a half hour, to spare before being pulled from the course on Sunday.   


The tipping point for a back of the pack'r like me, was this year's change in the bike course.  It went from a single 18 mile loop to 2, 10 mile loops.  Not only could I expect to spend a good chunk of my first loop moving aside for every experienced pro, but it was likely I'd have to jump off trail completely for plenty of the more excitable amateurs too. 


I had a decision to make.

I knew in my churning gut, I should go straight to the registration tent and beg to switch to the half distance sport race.  But old Coach Griffen always has his say inside my head.


"You can always do more than you think you can."


The trouble was, I probably couldn't.  Not this time.


What it came down to was, which form of DNF to choose?  Not finish the XTerra East Championship by defaulting to the shorter sport race?  Or not finish by failing to make the bike cut off?


If you don't try, there's no chance at all, argues the Coach. 


I pedal on past the registration tent, whipped for the day, but resolved for the morning.


In the end Popeye (in the Championship race) and Scrub Jay (in the sport race) both did well, their runs enviably complete before I finish my bike. 


Although I don't make it in time for the noon cut off, it was close enough that the XTerra transition staff gave me my choice.

"Do you want to go ahead and do the run?" 


The Coach started to speak up, even as my legs buckled in the dismount.  He was, for once, squelched by a louder, wiser voice.  Mine.


"No thanks, I don't think so."

A peek at the swim start under the tracks.

  Crab the current, and don't bang your knees.

The big 8 flight stair climb is gone,

but there are still a few steps to get up.

Popeye has no trouble.

The bike route takes a bridge back across the river.

Guess what - the run doesn't.

There is a smooth section right before the end.

And everywhere you go in Richmond, a train...

some sort of bridge...

or a tunnel.

Looks like I'll soon have another scar for my collection.

If only there were a way to practice for the fast guys coming through.

I know.  Go faster, right?